EXT. ZOO — SMALL WOODED CLEARING — DAY
TRISH the butterfly chatterboxes.
So, like, this guy, y’know? Like,
maybe…a fly? Anyway… He said
to go see some squirrel thing,
and then the squirrel thing said
something about, like…
McDonald’s? I mean…what the
flip… Seriously. Can we say, like,
creeper much? Uh…yikes…
BIG MAC the Hercules beetle sits motionlessly on his log next to her.
And then I, like, try to find this
“Donald,” and where the frick
does it get me? I mean…where
the fritz are we? Can you say, uh,
“hobosville”? I mean, please, like,
bleach me already. There’s literally
nobody even here.
A TRAIN OF CRAWLING INSECTS carry bodies off-screen in the background. Trish hacks.
Omigod. Ew. You seriously smell
that? Makes me wanna shake a
flippin’ baby. Like, get real right
now. What even makes that? I am
not missing some burger clown
’cause of this.
Omigosh, what if he’s the flippin’
fry cook? Like meat locker smell
or something. Nuh-uh. No frickin’
way. He’d have to, like, live here…
or whatever…to make this. Like…
for sure. …Y’know?
Wait. Wait. You’re not from
McDonald’s, right? I mean, yikes—
this reakage? Literally from, like…
a village of hobos. Like…a hoboville…
or something. …Did I say that?
BIG MACHO BUGS land behind Trish. They don’t look friendly.